The Fight
by Loafer
Summary: COMPLETE. A fight between Lassiter and Shawn leads to a secret kept, and Juliet is determined to discover the truth. Or, I have no idea what I'm doing but once the idea pounced, I had to go with it. Lassiet, as if you needed to be told that.
1. Chapter 1: The News

**Disclaimer**: *_snore_* don't *_snore_* claim *_snore_* any *_snore_* ownership *_snore_* of _**psych**_.

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: A fight between Lassiter and Shawn leads to a secret kept, and Juliet is determined to discover the truth. Or, I have no idea what I'm doing but once the idea came to me, I had to go with it. Lassiet by the end, as if you needed to be told that.

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**CHAPTER ONE: The News**

**. . . .**

**. . . **

Juliet was just about to get into bed at midnight when her cell rang. _Somebody's dead_, she thought, only as a cop she always assumed it would be people she _didn't_ know.

In the moment before she picked up the phone she saw Gus' name on the screen, and mild annoyance colored her tone as she answered. "Gus, tell Shawn that having _you_ ask me to come over this late on a weeknight isn't going to work. I'm about to go to bed and I—"

"Juliet," he interrupted. "No, I called to tell you…" He hesitated. She couldn't decipher the background noises, but there were a lot of people talking and it sounded as if he were outside. "Lassiter's on his way to the hospital, and I thought you should know. You're his medical proxy, right?"

"His medical—oh my God, what happened?" She should have been springing into action but instead she sank to the edge of the bed, weak with sudden fear.

"He…"

"Gus, tell me! Is he okay? Is this about a case? Was he shot?" The fear was rising.

"No, no. It's not that. Not a case." One more pause. "He… he and Shawn got into a fight over at Circles."

Juliet blinked. "A _fight_? What? Wait… then how's Shawn?" Because Carlton was tough enough to put down any fisticuffs with Shawn quickly, she knew that much. Bless his heart, Shawn was a creative fighter but not one with much staying power.

"He'll be okay. Just bruises. I'm taking him to his dad's to be fixed up and yelled at. Look, you should get over to—"

She was on her feet. "Tell me _now_. What happened to Carlton that you think his medical proxy should be there?"

Gus sounded miserable. "Shawn hit him in the head with a pitcher of beer. There was blood. He's alive, Juliet, but right now that's all I know. He's being taken to Regional."

She hung up and got gone.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Gus drove Shawn over to Henry's house. He'd made a quick call to let Henry know he'd be dealing with the walking wounded, but gave no other details (Henry was perfectly able and willing to grill Shawn himself).

Shawn, an icepack to his eye while he pinched the bridge of his nose to stop the bleed, lay back in his seat looking like exhausted, drunken crap.

"Shawn," Gus said sternly.

"Mmmm."

"Shawn, pay attention to me."

"Dude, this all really hurts. I just want a dozen aspirin and some—ooh, a smoothie, yeah, right _on_ my face, because—"

"Shawn," Gus said again, and something about his voice made Shawn lower the icebag and look full at him. "Do you understand what you did tonight?"

The faintest of grins. "Yeah I do. Cleaned Lassie's clock, that's what I did."

Gus, not a violent person by any means, suddenly found himself reaching in to grab Shawn's blood-spotted shirt. Shawn's good eye widened. "You hit him hard enough to make his head bleed! He's unconscious! You may have cracked his skull! That's damn _serious_! You _understand_?"

"Gus, yeah, I _understand_! Let go of me."

"No, because there's something else I need you to understand." Gus had tried many times over many years to make Shawn _understand_ many things about his choices and their consequences, but he knew making him understand _this_ thing was exceptionally important.

"Well, get on with it before _my_ head splits, okay?" He raised the icebag back to his black eye.

"You've done a lot of questionable things in your life and sometimes I've been right there with you but a lot of times I've only been there to ask you to not to do them. You get away with a lot and people let you slide and you think you're always going to be able to slide but it's not going to be so easy this time. You may have seriously injured the head detective of the Santa Barbara Police Department."

"Dude, we were drunk and it was a fist fight! Happens all the time."

"Not if he dies, Shawn. Or has brain damage."

Shawn glared at him. "Over-dramatizing isn't good for you. Look, I'm not proud of any of that. But you saw what went down. You know who said what."

Gus gave him an utterly mirthless grin. "Yeah, I do. I saw _you_ go after a guy who was down and keep chewing on him. I saw _you_ throw the first punch when he talked back and I saw _you_ swing that pitcher of beer at the end. You're the bad guy here, Shawn. And I'm pretty sure no one else heard what you guys were saying before it started, but I _know_ I'm not the only one in that bar tonight who saw what happened and in what order."

A flicker of unease showed in Shawn's visible (but blood-shot) eye. "But you—"

Gus released his shirt and faced the windshield. Then after a moment during which he valiantly tried to resist the impulse, he reached into the glove compartment for an antiseptic wipe. _Because, really, do you _need_ Shawn's blood on your hand?_ "Here's my real point. And I know you're drunk and hurting and have ADD but if you ever listen to any damn thing I say, this had better be it."

He glanced at Shawn, who was staring at him, lip curled in pre-mockery about the wipe.

"Do not tell anyone what you were fighting about." He waited for Shawn's frown. "Do I need to explain why?"

Long pause. Shawn nodded.

_So frustrating. How can someone so intelligent be so unbelievably dense?_

"Because it would be cruel. It would be like kicking a puppy."

Shawn frowned—the usual mock frown which preceded something annoying. "Lassie's a puppy? Well, yeah I guess he'd have to be with a name like—"

"Shawn," he interrupted, so very tired of this already.

"Maybe a puppy _Rottweiler_."

"Stop it. I _know_ you have a heart. If you go public with what you were fighting about the only thing you're going to do is screw with his life and…" He breathed deeply. "And look like a jerk. A real jerk."

"He's tough," Shawn mumbled.

"Yeah? Well what about Juliet?"

"What about her?"

"Is she so tough that it's not going to screw with _her_ head too? Come _on_, son. You're the last person I'd ever call stupid, but you'd be a _seriously_ stupid jerk to think she wouldn't be affected."

Another long pause. Shawn adjusted the icebag, sighing. "Well, what am I supposed to say when people ask what we were fighting about?"

"Something you've never said before." He pulled Shawn's arm down and looked at him full in the face. "_Nothing_. Okay? You tell everyone you don't remember because you were too drunk."

Shawn let out a huge sigh and put the icebag over both eyes. "Okay," he said finally. "I get it. I won't tell anyone, not even Juliet."

"Thank God." He got out of the car, going around to Shawn's side to make sure he didn't fall on his face.

Shawn made it out okay, stopping a moment to lean against the hood. "Where is Jules anyway? Did you call her like I asked you to?"

"Yes, I called her, but not because you asked me to. I called to tell her about Lassiter."

This earned him a glare. "What for? She'd find out in the morning anyway."

Gus snapped, "Do you realize the only reason you're not in jail is that the cops who showed up _know_ you? And that once this gets to Vick—which it might have already—you could still be arrested?"

Shawn just stared at him, and Gus thought maybe he 'got' that.

He sighed deeply, trying to calm down. "To answer your question, Juliet needed to know about Lassiter because she's his medical proxy as well as his partner and his friend."

"But she's my _girlfriend_. Don't I get dibs?"

_For the love of God_. "Were you the one bleeding in the ambulance?"

"Oh. Good point."

The front door was yanked open and Henry loomed in the doorway. "You gonna stay out there yakking all night or what?"

This was one of those times when Gus was all too glad to hand Shawn over to his father and get away as fast as he could.

But Henry had other ideas; he was on the sidewalk, his grip on Gus' arm like a vise, while Shawn was still stumbling inside. "_What_?"

No point evading. "He and Lassiter fought. Lassiter's…" He really, really hated to say it. "Shawn hit him with a pitcher. Lassiter's on his way to the hospital."

Henry's grip relaxed and the shock on his face was something foreign to Gus. "Son of a bitch."

"I gotta go," Gus said desperately, because he did; he had to get out of there, away from the craziness, away from the utter impossibility of what he'd seen tonight.

Henry released his arm, and as Gus was putting the Echo in gear, he could see Henry walking slowly back to the house.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Juliet was finally allowed to go in and see Carlton about two a.m. She'd made it to the hospital in time to answer a myriad of insurance questions but he was already out of her reach and she'd been going crazy waiting.

_He has to be all right_, was the mantra in her head. _I need my partner and friend_.

Dr. Westlake told her that according to the CT scan, there was a minor skull fracture, linear in nature, but so far there were no signs of either a bleed or swelling in the brain. This was good news, he assured her, but because Carlton had been unconscious for a good fifteen minutes they were keeping him overnight and would do further tests in the morning.

He had spoken to them and knew who and where he was, and all of this, the doctor promised, really was a good thing, but they were still keeping him overnight.

Juliet wouldn't go home without seeing him and finally wore down the nurse by saying that if her status as his medical proxy didn't assure her entrance outside of visitor hours, then her status as a cop ought to.

_I _am_ ready to slap you if necessary. I have to see Carlton, and it has to be now._

"But he's asleep," the nurse tried one last time.

"I. Don't. Care." She wasn't going to wake him up; she just needed to _see_ him, dammit.

He lay on his back, eyes closed, head bandaged. The doctor said the blood Gus had told her about was from the glass cutting his scalp, not from the fracture itself, and she was thankful for that.

Breathing deeply, Carlton seemed to be asleep, but she felt such relief to know he was really there and _okay_ that she went closer and clasped his hand where it rested at his side. His knuckles were bruised, and so were his cheek and left jaw.

_What in the hell happened? Shawn did this to you? _Shawn?_ And _he's_ okay enough to be at Henry's instead of here?_

Carlton stirred, and his fingers twitched against hers, but he didn't open his eyes.

He was so pale, and her heart was twisting at how… alone he thought he was. If she could only make him understand she was there for him. If she could only make him understand that she regretted the distance between them the past year, most of which was her fault.

If she could only make him understand how important he was to her.

She squeezed his hand, and brushed a tear off her cheek with the other.

"I'll be back in the morning, partner," she whispered, and leaned in to give his bruised cheek a light kiss.

She thought he sighed, but still he slept.

Back in her car and feeling both relieved and shaky, she glanced at her phone and saw Gus had texted her. _Call me when you know anything. No matter what time._

Shawn had also texted. _I'm OK baby, just bruised. Don't worry._

Ironic. She hadn't been worried much about _him_ at all.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Gus did occasionally admit to himself—when he was completely alone—that he tended to worry about things a _bit_ too intensely. This morning, he was feeling especially worried, even by _his_ standards.

Chief Vick had called and asked him to come to the station to give a statement about the bar incident. He couldn't even begin to imagine how pissed off she was, and was grateful she wanted to see him early and sans Shawn.

He'd already had a taste of Juliet's wrath; when she called him at 2:15 a.m. with an update on Lassiter she immediately began asking him what happened. He was as vague as he could manage under her persistence, telling her who did what but denying any knowledge of the words exchanged between the two men.

As it was, the idea that Shawn had both started the fight and then ended it in such an uncharacteristically violent way was enough to flummox her, and he hoped to God Shawn would keep his promise not to tell her anything.

He was also worried about Lassiter. If he didn't make a full recovery, as Juliet was hopeful he would, then nothing would ever be the same for any of them. He respected the man, even though he was vaguely alarmed by him, and knew he'd saved their asses far more times than their asses deserved to be saved.

So he drove extra-cautiously in his little blue company car, hoping he wouldn't wither away completely under one of Vick's all-too-icy glares.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Karen Vick got the news before she left her home, and called Juliet O'Hara immediately. Juliet, who sounded exhausted, ran down for her what she knew and said she was going back to the hospital first thing and would update her from there.

Karen's next move was to summon Gus, get to the station and settle in with a very large coffee and a preemptive Danish while she waited for him.

She also contacted the officers who'd responded to the bar manager's call, and was told by them somewhat stoically that they'd decided not to arrest Shawn mainly because they knew everything about the incident was screwy and if it were decided later that he should be incarcerated, Henry Spencer alone would be enough backup to bring his son in.

Gus knocked tentatively at her door.

"Come in," she said briskly. "Have a seat."

He closed the door behind him and did as she said. He looked nervous and a little sad.

"Let's get to it. I consider you a fundamentally honest person, Mr. Guster. I've witnessed you try to steer Mr. Spencer the right way on many occasions. Not always successfully, but you do try."

"Yes, ma'am."

"So I expect to be justified in my confidence that when I ask you what the _hell_ happened to land my head detective in the hospital with a skull fracture, you'll be completely honest with me."

"Yes, ma'am," he said again quietly. "I will."

She raised her eyebrows. "Start, then."

He shifted in the chair. "Shawn and I were at Circles playing darts and eating wings. He drank a little more than usual, and when we finally headed out to leave we came upon a group of college guys doing jello shots. Well, Shawn just had to convince them a guy his age could out-drink the rest of them."

_Men are stupid_. "What about you?" she asked with raised eyebrow.

"Oh, not me. I was driving, for one thing, and for another, the shots were all lime."

Her eyebrow stayed up.

"I prefer cherry," he explained.

Internally, she sighed. "Please continue."

Gus shifted again. "You know how he is when he's determined to be the star. He was knocking back shots like… like he was 21. Which he's _not_," he felt the need to add, but Karen chose to remain silent. "It got pretty rowdy and he was pretty smashed and I knew it was time to get him out of there. But he wanted to make the rounds of the whole bar to be sure he could impress everyone with the number of shots he'd had, and in the back booth we saw Detective Lassiter."

He stopped, and Karen waited, and when his nervousness seemed to increase, she said evenly, "It's all right, Mr. Guster. I am well aware that sometimes police officers go to bars and drink when they're off duty." She didn't _think_ Carlton regularly hung out in bars, but what did she know, really, about her very private head detective?

Gus gathered himself. "Well, um, Shawn had to… he had to be Shawn. He went up to him and started making remarks."

"What kind of remarks?"

"Um… the usual. You know how he likes to…"

Karen helped him out. "Make jokes about his ears, his hair, his clothes, his job skills, his whole life? That sort of thing?"

"Yeah." But the expression on his face was uneasy for a moment. "I couldn't hear all of it. The place was pretty loud."

"What did Lassiter do?"

"Nothing, for a long time. Once he told him to shut up and go away but mostly he just kept sipping his drink."

This next pause was longer. Karen knew he was reluctant to say something, but also that he was reluctant to lie about it.

At last Gus mustered up the courage to go on. "Finally Shawn made a remark… which… crossed a line. Lassiter stood up and got in his face and gave it right back, and Shawn…" Here his tone was stunned. "Shawn hit him. He just… hit him."

Even though she'd known it, it was still startling. Shawn Spencer was not aggressive by any means except verbally, in a bullying sort of way, and in her experience with him, she wasn't aware of any time when he dealt with a problem by lashing out physically.

"All right," she said. "Then Lassiter hit him back?"

"It was on," he said miserably. "I think the only reason it didn't last longer is that they'd both been drinking. But Lassiter got the upper hand pretty fast and put Shawn down, and I thought it was over. He told me to get Shawn the hell out of there. The bouncers were already on their way over."

Karen looked at him: he was as terrified now as he must have been the night before. "You're almost done, Mr. Guster."

He let out a huge sigh. "Then while his back was turned, Shawn got up, grabbed a full pitcher of beer off the next table, and smashed it against Lassiter's head." He slumped back in the chair, apparently exhausted. "That's it. That's what happened."

She gave him a few moments to calm himself down. "Thank you. I only have one more question. What was the fight about?"

Gus stared at her. "I… I told you. Shawn was—"

"No. You evaded. I _need_ to know whether this fight was business or personal, because _assuming_ I allow Psych to continue working with the SBPD, the former affects our work relationship generally, and the latter affects whether you'd be able to work with Lassiter and O'Hara again. Although, now that I've said it out loud, of course there's no way you'll _ever_ work with Lassiter again."

"No." His voice was subdued. "Of course not."

"You see my point, I hope. My head detective, a high-ranking and extremely dedicated police officer, is in the hospital with a damned fractured skull. Shawn doesn't get to walk away clean from that, and by extension, neither does Psych. This is not an 'oops sorry' kind of event."

"I know."

"I'll be asking Shawn to tell his story too, but I wanted to hear it from you first. As I said before, I knew _you_ were capable of understanding the seriousness of the situation and the compelling need for honesty about it. So for the last time, Mr. Guster, what was the fight really about?"

To his credit, he held her gaze a lot longer than she thought he would.

But then he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head down. "Chief. It was personal. It had nothing to do with work and… and as terrified as I am of you and the very real possibility you'll either arrest me or shoot me, I… I just can't tell you. I can't."

Karen stared at the top of his head.

He sat up, weary but resolute. "No good would come of it. I'm sorry. The fight was personal and that's all I'll say."

She studied him, but didn't feel the frustration she expected. "All right. You're free to go. I'll talk to Shawn later today. Right now I'm going to see Lassiter."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, and was out the door before she could even get up from her chair.

**. . . .**

**. . .**


	2. Chapter 2: The Talks

**CHAPTER TWO: The Talks**

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Juliet paced the hall outside Carlton's room. He'd been out "for testing" when she arrived, but she was told he'd be back soon for his breakfast and it was just about all she could do to not run through the hospital searching him down.

She'd barely slept in the few hours since her last visit, with Carlton firmly entrenched in her head and apparently unwilling to move out any time soon. Worry and fear and puzzlement and a simple need to be sure he was okay, that he was himself, that he was _Carlton_… these all tormented her.

The morning nurse at the nurses' station glared at her, presumably because Juliet's heels were clicking on the tile floor, so she forced herself to slow down and then sit on the bench across from his door.

_Why aren't you anxious to see Shawn, to see how he's doing?_

_Because he's only half as bad as he'll tell me he is_. His self-indulgent whininess post-appendectomy (not to mention the drama of having been 'slightly' poisoned last year) had been off-putting, to say the least.

_Is that the only reason?_

No. She didn't _want_ to see him. She was too angry. Pure and simple. She wanted to punch him herself for doing this to Carlton, for causing even one moment's worry for her that her partner and friend would be all right.

_And if the situation was reversed? If _Shawn_ had the fractured skull?_

_Then Shawn would have had it coming_ and instantly she was horrified to have thought so.

But the two men were so different. If Carlton ever resorted to something as… primitive… as smashing a pitcher against Shawn's head, it would be to stop a massive threat to himself and others. She knew Carlton could easily hold his own in a fist fight; he was fast and strong and keeping arrestees under control was paramount in the field.

_Answer the question. Would you be as angry with Carlton if it were Shawn off being tested right now?_

Probably. Yes. Of course, yes.

But… she'd also be puzzled, in the extreme.

Her partner was all about self-control, and although even a man like Carlton could lose that self-control, he'd have had to be totally… out of his _mind_ to start the fight in the first place, let alone end it that way when his opponent's back was turned.

She wasn't puzzled about Shawn, not as such. He wasn't violent or aggressive but he was impulsive and petulant. Those qualities, amped up by alcohol, could easily have turned into monumental bad judgment and lack of any filters on his behavior.

Later she would go and see him, but not until she'd talked to Carlton.

Restless, she got up to pace again, and after a few minutes the nurse walked up to her and said, "Please. Go into his room and wait there." Her tone suggested this was not optional.

Juliet went in and resumed pacing, thankful the other bed was unoccupied, and ten minutes later when she'd about worn a path in the linoleum, Carlton was wheeled into the room by a lanky orderly.

His eyes, crystal blue, fixed on her, but he didn't smile. He looked tired and battered and that white bandage around his head was a startling contrast to his still mostly-dark hair.

"Carlton," she said, her smile tentative. "How are you?"

"My head hurts." Succinct. He allowed the orderly to help him out of the wheelchair but got into the bed on his own.

The orderly nodded at her, told him to press the button if he needed anything, and took the wheels away.

Juliet approached the bed, trying not to look at the vee of his bare chest exposed by the hospital gown. _But you wonder about touching that chest hair… now stop it_. "What were the tests?"

"Making sure my brain was still intact." He was adjusting the sheets, not looking at her, and Juliet couldn't take it anymore, not today of all days.

She grasped his forearm, sliding her hand down to take his. "Carlton. Please look at me."

Slowly he turned his head, and this close to him, she found the blue of his eyes entirely mesmerizing.

"I'm fine, O'Hara. I ache and my head hurts but I'm fine. The doctor thinks everything's going to be okay. He's going to discharge me this afternoon."

His hand was warm and he didn't try to retract it but she could feel his tension.

_Oh… is he embarrassed? Or does he think I'm here to apologize for Shawn? Or maybe to yell at him? _

"I haven't talked to Shawn yet. Gus called me about you last night."

"Nice of him," he said. "How is Spencer?"

She was surprised he'd even ask, but then again, unlike her boyfriend, he did at least go through the motions of polite conversation.

Which was how he was acting. Polite. _Maybe he associates me with the man who did this to him. He might think of me as the enemy once removed._

She shrugged. "I guess he's sore too, but from what Gus said, he deserves it."

Carlton gently removed his hand from hers, ostensibly to scratch his neck, but she wasn't fooled.

"What did you fight about?" Gus had been vague, claiming he hadn't heard much, but it was an over-the-top nervous evasion and she knew there was more.

He glanced at her again, a flash of surprise quickly masked by a more impassive gaze. "I don't remember."

"You… don't remember?"

"I'd been drinking," he said with a shrug. "I remember he came to my booth and started in on me, I remember that when I told him off he hit me, I remember hitting him back, and that's all."

The last part was probably true, and Carlton didn't often lie to her but again, just as with Gus, she knew there was more.

"Why were you even there?" she persisted.

He frowned. "Why does anyone go to a bar? I wanted a drink."

"How many drinks did you _want_?"

He shook his head slightly, and she could read irritation… discomfort… reluctance… _hiding_.

"Carlton," she said softly. "Please. I'm worried about you."

"Thanks, but you don't have to be." He looked out the window, his face impossible to read.

Juliet walked around to the other side of the bed to block his view, and saw no reason to be shy about her next question. "What's wrong? Why do I feel like you're upset with me?"

Carlton stared at her. "I'm not."

"Then why are you being so… remote?"

"Remote," he repeated, still searching her out. "O'Hara, I'm beat up and bruised and my head is killing me and the whole idea of having a fractured skull isn't exactly comforting, you know? It's safe to say I'm not myself. To top it all off, I have a damn hangover."

She smiled a little, and he smiled back just enough to make her feel better. "Okay. I'm sorry. I… it's just you're really important to me and I'd hate to think you don't consider me someone you can rely on at a time like this." She wouldn't say _trust_, not after the past year.

"I know I can." His smoky voice was steady.

Juliet held his blue gaze until she was satisfied of his sincerity. "I think Vick's coming in to see you. When will you be discharged? I'll give you a ride home."

"I can take a taxi—"

"Forget it," she interrupted. "You are _not_ taking a taxi."

"I need to get my car from Circles," he pointed out somewhat aggravatedly.

"You don't know even know whether your doctor wants you to drive yet. _I _will make sure your car gets back to your place. And this afternoon, _I'll_ take you home. Clear? Partner?"

"Clear." It was gruff. "Thanks."

"I'll even bring you a clean shirt from your overnight bag. I imagine the one you had on last night is ruined." _Beer, blood… bad memories_.

"Most likely."

She reached for his hand again, and this time he let her take it, and he didn't draw away—although his already large blue eyes seemed to grow wider—when she leaned in to kiss his cheek. "Call me when you're ready."

**. . . .**

**. . .**

When Karen Vick walked into Carlton's room—after meeting Juliet on her way out the main entrance—he was out of bed and standing by the window. In his hospital gown, and wearing what she presumed were his pants from the night before, he looked… like a wreck, but a striking wreck nonetheless.

He turned at the sound of her heels. "Chief," he said with some appreciation. "O'Hara said you might come by."

"I'm not the only one who wants to, but I understand you'll be going home this afternoon." She touched his upper arm lightly. "How do you feel, really?"

His answer was the same as he'd given Juliet, and his delivery of it even and unemotional.

Karen crossed her arms and surveyed his bruised face, his bandaged head, and his air of watchfulness. The latter was normal for him.

"I talked to Gus so I know the _structure_ of what happened. What I don't know is exactly how to proceed. I'd like to know what the fight was about, and whether I should have Spencer arrested for what he did."

Carlton glanced at the floor for a moment, and then looked out the window again. "I can't remember what we argued about."

That was what he'd told Juliet. "Gus would only say it was personal," she prompted.

But he merely repeated, "I don't remember enough to be sure. Are you asking if I want to press charges against Spencer?"

"Technically I don't have to ask you that. It's automatically a criminal matter. I can arrest him, take it to the DA and make prosecution his call."

His blue eyes bored into hers, but he said nothing.

Karen sighed. "Look, you two have a long history of shared irritation but this is a lot bigger than that. If you're hesitating because you don't want to upset your partner—because she's his girlfriend—you need to get over that, and so does she. Although," she amended, "I haven't exactly heard her step up and plead for mercy on his behalf."

Something flickered in the wide blue of his eyes, and she filed that away for later reflection. "I don't know what I want to do. I don't know what's best." He returned his gaze to the view out the window. "Ask me tomorrow."

There was a time… as recently as, honestly, last week, when Carlton Lassiter would have jumped at the chance to put Shawn Spencer behind bars. She doubted he'd suddenly started liking the guy, and above all things he was a stickler for the law and would be outraged if someone else in his situation didn't want his attacker arrested and brought to justice.

So what the _hell_ was going on?

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Early in the afternoon, Buzz McNab first followed Juliet to Carlton's condo where she dropped off her Bug, then drove her over to Circles to find Carlton's Fusion, still in the lot. Somehow the sight of it filled her with a pang of regret that he'd even felt the _need_ to drink until he was drunk. There was so much he kept from her—not that he didn't have a right—and so much she wanted to know, to understand him more deeply than she thought she already did.

No one put up walls better than Carlton.

She thanked Buzz (who was still stunned by the news and already asking hesitantly if he could go see Carlton in the hospital) and got into the Fusion with the set of keys she'd collected from the nurses' station, where they still held his wallet and other personal items.

The car smelled of Carlton, his aftershave and his… she didn't know what it was exactly. His essence? No matter—it simply made her _feel_ better, as if she were close to him again.

She was driving back to the station when it occurred to her that she really ought to check in on Shawn.

And that she still didn't want to.

_Suck it up, girl._

He'd texted her twice after ten, once to say he was still at Henry's and once to say he'd love a hand-delivered smoothie.

Reluctantly, she drove to Henry Spencer's house and parked in the gravel lot across the street, taking a deep breath to steady herself before going up the walk to knock on the door.

Henry himself pulled it open a moment later. "Juliet," he said with a raised eyebrow. "Good to see you."

"Hi. How are you doing?" It had been a few months since he'd left the force, and he looked good, recovered nicely from his gunshot wound.

"I'm great. Everything's copacetic, except for that strange lump on my sofa." He urged her in and gestured to the den.

"Jules!" Shawn cried, indeed from within what appeared to be a large cocoon on the sofa. Thoroughly wrapped in blankets from neck to toe, he looked more as if he were recovering from the flu than a fist fight.

He tried to sit up and failed.

Juliet sat on the coffee table and watched his efforts.

"Little help?" he suggested with a smile. "I'd like to kiss my sweet girlfriend."

She looked him over. Well, what she could see of him. Black eye, split lip, bruise on the other cheek. Hair smushed. She was surprised he didn't feel _that_ the most keenly.

"You should rest," she said matter-of-factly. "How do you feel?"

He looked disappointed. "No kiss?"

"It might hurt you," she lied.

Shawn settled back on the sofa, and managed to work one arm free from the blankets which swathed him in order to scratch his nose.

"So? How do you feel?"

"Like an enchilada," Henry suggested from the doorway. "That's how he looks, anyway. I'm going out to pick up some food. You want anything, Shawn?"

"Smoothies. Many. Pineapple chief among them. Nothing will soothe me like a smoothie. In fact, they should really call them _soothies_."

Henry shook his head and left.

As soon as she heard the rumble of his truck—Shawn seemed to be listening for it too—Juliet asked simply, "What happened last night?"

Shawn was a very good liar but for one-quarter of one second his bloodshot eye gave away that he was about to evade. "I really can't say, Jules. I was just too snockered. I guess I got in his face like I always do and it just escalated because I was stupid-faced drunk."

"You never strike your first blow physically, Shawn. You're a _verbal_ assault kind of guy." Very verbal, starting at a high level and regressing to childish if it went on too long.

He showed no reaction. "Enough jello shots and anything can happen. Truth is, I don't remember using the pitcher. I can't believe I did."

"Here's the thing," she said softly. "I've known you almost seven years and I've been dating you for over a year. I've seen you piqued, annoyed, frustrated and pissed off. I've also seen you pitch the occasional and _highly_ unflattering hissy fit. One of the few times I thought you were genuinely angry, it turned out you were only pretending—that was when we first dealt with Yang and you went off on us in the Psych office. The point is, for you to throw a punch at Carlton at all means you were angrier than you'd ever been about anything."

Shawn was practiced at deceit, but his arm was moving restlessly. Maybe that was his tell. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I don't believe you can't remember."

He flung his head back against the sofa and then immediately winced. "Ow. Look, I guess you've never been so drunk that you lost your memory of what you were doing and why, but that's how it was for me. I _know_ I was a jerk. I just don't remember the specifics. And that's the tru—"

Juliet got to her feet abruptly, a wave of impatience moving her away from him. _Don't you use the word 'truth' to me_, she wanted to snap.

"Jules," he said softly, and she saw clearly in his hazel eyes that he knew he was in trouble, and he knew getting out of it would be very difficult.

"You could have killed my partner," she said, her voice flat and cold. "You could have left him brain-damaged. He's my best friend and you of all people ought to understand how important a best friend is. I don't care how drunk you were, and maybe I don't even care what set all this off. I only know I'm incredibly angry with you, Shawn, and I don't know when I'm going to get over it. Or if I even _can_."

He was staring at her—partly aghast, partly confused.

Her phone beeped and she glanced at the screen: a text from Carlton. He was ready to be picked up. "I have to go. Carlton's being discharged." She went to the doorway and looked back at her swaddled boyfriend. "And by the way, one of the first things he asked me when I went to see him this morning was how you were. I don't recall you asking how _he_ is." She didn't wait for an answer or an excuse, let alone another damned lie.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Gus tapped on the open door of Lassiter's room, nervous but determined.

Lassiter looked up from the chair by the window, wary. "Guster."

"Uh… how you doing?" Juliet had mentioned a bandage but it was gone now except for a white square at the side of his head, which was probably to keep some of the cuts from the glass covered.

"I'm getting out in a little while. Waiting for discharge papers and a clean shirt from O'Hara. How's Spencer?"

"I haven't seen him today. Talked to him, though. He's at his dad's and I guess he's all right."

One dark brow arched. "Recuperation under Henry's supervision must be… interesting."

Gus smiled. "Yeah, he'll be asking for a ride home any minute now."

Lassiter leaned back, arms folded, his blue gaze regarding him thoughtfully.

Gus broke. "Look, I wanted to apologize."

Lassiter blinked. "I don't believe _you_ did anything wrong, Guster. And thanks, by the way, for calling O'Hara last night. I appreciate it."

"I _did_ do something wrong," he insisted. "I didn't get him out of there fast enough, and I stood by while it was going to hell."

Glancing past him to the open door, as if to be sure no one could hear, Lassiter said carefully, "There's no way to stop Spencer doing anything he's determined to do. And as I recall, it didn't take very long anyway."

Conscious of his pulse racing, Gus went a little closer to the solitary man in the chair. "How much do you remember?"

"Everything up to turning around to see the bouncers approaching. What does he remember?"

"All of it, I think. I told him not to tell anyone." He paused. "Juliet especially."

Lassiter's bruised face was shadowed. "And you didn't tell Vick."

"No. Nor Juliet. And I won't. I wanted you to know that."

"Spencer will." His tone was almost resigned.

"I don't think so. I think I made him understand he'd only be making things worse for everyone."

Slowly, Lassiter nodded. "Thanks."

Gus shoved his hands in his pockets. "Is Shawn going to be arrested?"

The blue eyes looked at him sharply. "I don't think it's up to me at this point. Chief Vick let me know she'll make the final call. But I'm not asking for it, if that's what you mean."

He said something which surprised even him. "You should."

Lassiter was quizzical. "Because it'll teach him a lesson? That's never worked before. He doesn't learn lessons."

"No, but you should do it anyway. I've known Shawn since I was five, Lassiter. He's done a lot of dumbass stuff but this was serious, and ugly, and it was wrong."

For a long time, Lassiter didn't say anything at all, and Gus was on the verge of prompting him when he spoke. "The sooner everyone believes no one remembers what happened, the sooner this goes away. For all of us." He paused, and added very softly, "And O'Hara."

Gus caught the tiniest glimpse of pain in his eyes, but Lassiter could hide almost as well as Shawn from those who sought to understand his heart and mind.

"Okay. I understand. You're probably right. I just… I just wanted to talk to you about it. I'm glad you're okay, Lassiter. You have no idea."

"I have some idea how glad _I_ am that I'm okay." He allowed a faint smile to ease his stern expression, and Gus relaxed a little. "Thanks for coming by."

Stepping forward, because this he knew was the right thing to do, Gus extended his hand to Lassiter, who shook it and smiled slightly one more time.

As he left the room, Gus couldn't help but think _he's a much better man than most people give him credit for_.

**. . . .**

**. . .**


	3. Chapter 3: More Talks

**CHAPTER THREE: More Talks**

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Juliet returned to Carlton's room, pleased ahead of time to be seeing him, and stopped a moment in the doorway to watch him gazing out the window. There was only a small white square bandage on his head now, and his black and silver hair was tousled; he looked both exhausted and amazing.

_I wonder how soft his hair is._

"Hey," she said brightly rather than allow her mind to go _there_, "Here's what I found in your overnight bag."

Carlton turned and gave her a smile, and what it did to his eyes and general demeanor was astonishing. "Thanks, partner." He took the plain white shirt and excused himself to the bathroom, and in a moment came out again still working on the top few buttons.

His chest hair gradually disappeared from her view, and she was sorry. She was also, apparently, a hussy.

"Did the doctor come by?"

"Yeah. He wants me to stay home the rest of the week. I can return to desk duty on Monday, and I come back here for a follow-up CT scan next month."

"And if you have any other symptoms before then, you'll call him," she stated firmly.

"Yes. As if you wouldn't do it for me in a heartbeat." He almost sounded relaxed, teasing her like that, and she felt better—the way she had in his car.

"You got that right. Are you ready to go?"

"Let's roll," he said.

At the nurses' station he collected the last of his personal items and signed the last of his papers, and then had to take the obligatory ride to the front door in a wheelchair despite his familiarly impatient objections.

Juliet stood next to the orderly and watched Carlton as the elevator descended. She didn't know what she was looking for, but she watched all the same.

At the car, he only raised his eyebrows when she refused to turn his keys over to him—she wondered if anyone else had ever driven his car and reminded herself to adjust the seat and mirrors back to his long-legged specifications later.

Before she started the engine, she turned to face him. "You may recall that a while ago after another rather… _stressful_ incident, you told me a sloppy joe would be the one thing to make you feel better. Well, I did a little research this morning and found out where to get a really good one. You up for it?"

Carlton frowned, which disappointed her, but then he smiled. "Yeah. It might be just the thing."

Happy again, she took them over to the place she'd found online, a little beachfront dive called Davy's not far off their usual lunchtime paths. It was small and sea-worn and the decor was simple, and they sat under an umbrella on the weathered deck. Late afternoon, before the dinner hour, the place was only about half-full.

He settled into his chair, and for a moment she wondered if this had been a bad idea. He was clearly tired and she was sure his head hurt. A lot. The fracture, the cuts, the hangover—all of it was surely conspiring to make him miserable, no matter how tough he wanted to seem outwardly.

"You okay?" she asked gently. "Maybe I should have taken you straight home."

"Forget it, O'Hara. You can't plant the idea of a sloppy joe in a man's head and then retract it." The vast blue of his eyes showed amusement.

The waiter—more likely the owner, if not the cook as well—came up in time to hear that remark, wiping his hands on a towel. "He's right, you know. And our sloppy joes will not disappoint. Two? With fries? And what to drink?"

Juliet laughed. "That was easy. Iced tea for both of us," she added boldly, because she knew his dining habits well enough.

Noting the bandage on Carlton's head, the waiter jerked his own toward Juliet. "She whack ya?"

Carlton grinned. "You gotta watch out for these little ones."

"I hear that." He went off whistling.

For some reason Juliet was unduly amused by the sensation of… no. That wasn't flirting. It never would be. Ever.

He reached up to touch the bandage. "How much does it stand out?"

"Not too bad," she assured him, and before she had any idea what her hand was going to do, she'd reached over to fluff his wavy hair and pull some of it down over the bandage.

Crap, that was going to seem odd to him, and it did, judging by the startled expression he now wore (and never mind how her fingers could still feel the softness of that black and silver hair).

But after she drew back and he muttered thanks, he only asked, "You didn't think I might want a beer?"

Yes. Back to normal. "Well, I don't know what you were drinking last night but I had a feeling you might be more interested in _avoiding_ alcohol for awhile. Right?"

"Right," he agreed. "So why are you being so nice to me?"

Juliet blinked. "What am I doing that's unusual?"

Carlton glanced toward the sea for a moment. "Nothing, but I expected you to be angry."

"Why would I be angry with _you_?"

His blue gaze came back to search hers. "Something to do with beating up your boyfriend?" A half-arch of his eyebrow. "Some women don't like that sort of thing."

"The way I heard it, he started it and you only fought back."

With a shrug, he returned his attention to the sea. "Even so. It's not like me to give in to my frequent impulses to throttle the little son of…" he stopped, and cleared his throat.

Juliet smiled privately. "No, it's not like you. And it's not like him to be so…" She wanted the right word, but the right word eluded her. Brutal? "Anyway, you're my partner and my best friend and there's no way I can _not_ be here for you."

The waiter came back with their iced teas and went off again, still whistling. Carlton took a sip of his tea and then said quietly, "What if the situation had been reversed? What if _he_ was the one with the fractured skull?"

"I've thought about that already," she admitted. "And honestly, I can't _imagine_ the situation being reversed. You two handle anger differently and you simply wouldn't have done what he did."

"But if," he persisted, not looking at her.

"Would I be mad at you for hurting him? I don't know, Carlton. Maybe. More likely I'd be mad at him for causing you to lose control like that. As mad as I am at him right now."

"You don't need to feel sorry for me." He looked up at her then, eyes intense. "I'm a grown man and I can take responsibility for my actions, and being drunk isn't enough of an excuse for what happened."

"I know that, and pity is the last thing I feel. I feel… regret. I feel concern. I feel completely pissed off at Shawn for causing all this. But mostly, Carlton, mostly I feel good to be here with you on this beautiful day, because you are alive and well and still my partner and friend."

He stared at her for a long moment.

"I am," he finally said quietly.

"And I'm yours." She lifted her glass in a mock toast, and Carlton raised his as well.

And one of those annoying little voices in the back of her head said _you're more his than Shawn's, that's for sure_.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Karen Vick put her hand on the wooden gate in front of Henry Spencer's seaside home, and his voice came from her left behind the hedge.

"If you're looking for Shawn, he's not here." He stepped out into view, ball cap pushed back and a pair of gardening shears in his hand.

"Did he flee my jurisdiction?" she asked dryly.

Henry grinned. "Not exactly. Gus took him over to Psych."

Karen put her hands on her hips and surveyed the man who was responsible for Shawn Spencer's existence. Sometimes she thought he had a _hell_ of a lot to answer for.

After a moment, he asked, "Are you going to arrest him?"

"It's on the table." She was only a little surprised he would ask; Henry knew how to be blunt.

He gave her a look. "I meant, are you going to arrest him _now_, not are you going to arrest him at all."

She gave him the same look back. "You aren't going to plead for mercy for the sake of your baby boy?"

Henry scoffed. "Come on. You _have_ to arrest him. Look, I've talked to Shawn and I grilled Gus when he came by just now. So far as I can see, the shortest version of this story is that one of your consultants cracked the skull of your head detective. You don't arrest him for it, you're as good as saying he's above the law. Doesn't matter how much alcohol was involved—in fact, the alcohol makes it worse."

"I know." She felt the breeze from the ocean in her hair, and it was the first soothing thing from the day (since the Danish this morning).

He adjusted his ball cap. "I'm not saying I want him in jail. I expect he'll get probation and community service. But _something_ has to happen, and a slap on the wrist is better than no slap at all."

"I hear you, Henry, and I agree. But I'd feel a lot better about it if I knew what the damn fight was about." She watched him carefully. Like his son, he knew how to keep a poker face—Shawn had learned it from him to begin with—but for something this big, Henry would probably at least give her a hint if he had one.

Henry's smile was slow and broad. "Shawn says he can't remember, Gus says he didn't hear, and I'm guessing Lassiter has amnesia too, right?"

"Yep."

He dropped the garden shears and crossed his arms. "Listen, Karen, you've been a cop a good long time and you know as well as I do that when two guys who don't get along conspire to keep a secret, it's gonna be about one of three things." He ticked them off on his fingers. "One, they robbed a bank. Two, they're hiding a body. Or three," and he paused, "they're protecting a woman." His pale blue gaze was sharp.

Karen nodded, not even really needing to think it over. "O'Hara. But I don't think she knows anything about it."

"Of course she doesn't. That's the point—protecting _her_." He smiled again. "She's the _one_ thing they have in common. You've got eyes. You know Lassiter cares for her."

She couldn't deny it; she'd thought so many times over the years. Lassiter was careful to hide his feelings in general, but every now and then she caught a little glimpse of his regard for Juliet. Sighing, she nodded.

"Relax," he said. "It's not a theory I intend to float anywhere else, and I don't see it's anyone's business but theirs. Just go arrest Shawn for what he did, and let the rest go."

"You make it sound so simple," she said with amusement. "All right. You want to come supervise your son being handcuffed?"

He thought about it a moment. "Nah. I don't think I can handle Gus crying. Just call me if you need me."

Karen thanked him and returned to her car, where she called back to the station for a patrol car to meet her at Psych. She _would_ talk to Shawn first—there was always a chance he'd say something to change the game—but there would be cuffs on his wrists before the afternoon was over.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Juliet saw Carlton safely up to his condo—over his protests—and inside, to make sure he had food in the fridge and everything he needed.

Standing in his place, tall and weary and still somehow so solitary, he managed to instill in Juliet the sensation that he would always, no matter what, be all right—but that at the same time, she knew she wanted to do more for him—and he deserved it.

"Carlton, don't freak out," she whispered, and put her arms around his middle. He was warm and solid and it was nice to feel his chest under her cheek.

After a moment, and a sigh, he hugged her back, his breath warm against her hair. "Thanks."

She let him go before he put her away, and reached up to touch his bruised face lightly. "Ice on your eye. Take the pain pill. Rest."

"Yes, ma'am." There was a light in his blue eyes, and it warmed her to think it might just be for her.

"I'll call you later."

"You don't have to."

"I'll call you later," she repeated. "I want to." More boldly, she added, "The only reason I'm leaving now is that you need to rest. I _will_ be in touch, partner."

For a moment he only looked at her, and she'd have given anything to know what the hell he was thinking. "Okay. Thanks for everything so far."

"It was only a sloppy joe," she teased.

"Damn good one, though."

The glowing review on the sloppy joes had been right, and the owner of the seaside diner gloated just a little when they both admitted it to him. "Stick with what you know, and you'll do it better than anyone else," he said with a grin.

It occurred to her, as she walked away from his condo, that sticking with _Carlton_ might produce the same results.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Shawn had restored his hair to his personal satisfaction with the stash of product he kept at Psych. Now he was examining his black eye in the mirror by the lockers.

"How's it feel?"

"A lot like a black eye, I guess. Where's that ibuprofen?" He took the bottle Gus offered him, and slugged back a couple of pills.

"How's the rest of you feel?"

"Like that whole bottle would only be a start." He went to his desk and sat down, putting his feet up on the desk and leaning back far in the chair.

Gus eyed him. He was still trying to figure out Shawn's real mood.

Shawn wasn't often quiet for long periods of time, so the five minutes he was silent—during which Gus merely waited patiently—was a record.

When he did speak, the words were soft. "Buddy, I _swear_ I wasn't trying to hurt him."

He was staring at his sneakers, which was a pretty good sign he was being completely truthful: he couldn't look at Gus when the truth was really out there.

"I know."

Shawn glanced at him for one moment only, and then back to his sneakers. "I just… wanted…"

After a pause, Gus supplied, "What you always want with Lassiter. To be on top."

"Yeah." Still he stared at his shoes. "Blows my mind how much he is like my dad without being anything like him at all. It pisses me off when he's right, so I have to make sure he's _never_ right. You know?" Another quick glance upward.

"I know," Gus repeated. He'd had seven years' worth of knowing. Shawn went after Lassiter even when he had no reason to: it was a game he couldn't stop playing because Lassiter was always… Lassiter.

"You saw him?"

"A few hours ago, yeah. He was getting ready to go home."

"Jules was taking him."

"Yeah."

"He's okay?"

"Looks like."

"Any chance this'll blow over?"

"Doubt it."

Shawn sighed and rubbed his neck. "Yeah." He swung his feet off the desk and put his head in his arms there, mumbling, "I can't believe I did it."

"Which part?" His goading of Lassiter was normal, merely amped up by the booze.

"The last part."

"The part which could have killed him?"

"Yeah. That part."

"Me either, Shawn, but it happened and now you have to deal with it."

"That's right," said a new voice. Karen Vick stood in the doorway, cool and crisp despite what must have been an especially aggravating day. Her brown gaze swept across Gus and then over to Shawn. "Ready to talk to me, Mr. Spencer?"

Shawn got up, and for a second Gus was afraid he was going to take his standard _Who, Me?_ approach to being in trouble. But he hesitated, and then relaxed. "Nothing much to say, Chief. Whatever you heard is probably what happened."

"Tell me anyway," she suggested, arms folded. She was still in the doorway but Gus felt as if she was filling the room; her authority and resolve were considerable.

To his credit, Shawn didn't even fidget. "I was drunk. I got in Lassiter's face until he reacted, I punched him, we fought, and when he turned his back I hit him with the pitcher." He hesitated. "I didn't want to lose. Especially not a fight _I_ started."

The Chief surveyed him from head to toe. "Hard to believe you won, looking the way you do."

"I… I don't think I exactly _won_, Chief."

Gus was surprised and so very relieved to hear Shawn say that, and to see the look of regret in his eyes. He knew his friend. He knew most of his tricks (not that he didn't often fall for them) and he knew his evasions and this was a moment when Shawn was being as honest as he could be.

Vick nodded after a moment. "No, I guess you really didn't. What was the fight about?"

"Sorry, I can't remember much about it."

_That_, he could lie about. _Thank God_, Gus thought.

She was already nodding, as if she'd expected the answer. "Well, it doesn't matter. You know I have to charge you with assault."

"Yeah, I understand."

_Gus_ understood too, even though his stomach roiled at the idea.

"I'd rather not cuff you, although I will if you make it necessary."

"It's not necessary." He looked at Gus. "Call my dad?"

Vick interrupted. "He already knows. I came from his house."

Shawn nodded, as if this were all very ordinary. "Okay then. Let's go."

Gus followed them to the door and watched Shawn get into the back seat of the patrol car which had pulled up behind Vick's. He felt helpless.

He also felt like there was nothing he _should_ do.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

It was late enough that Juliet decided to take herself home instead of returning to work, but as she was about to call the station, Gus texted her.

_Vick arrested Shawn. He didn't fight it._

She stared at the screen a long time, deciphering how she felt.

It was the right course of action.

It was pointless.

It was _necessary_.

It would achieve nothing in the end: Shawn would not change until he wanted to change.

But it was justice, at least, if even for a moment; it was an acknowledgment of a wrong done and an attempt to right it. It was… _consequences_.

She texted him back a simple OK and then, weary beyond measure, she drove home.

**. . . .**

**. . .**


	4. Chapter 4: The Truth

**CHAPTER FOUR: The Truth**

**. . . .**

**. . .**

It had been five weeks since Shawn's arrest. Karen Vick and the DA had handled everything as expeditiously as possible, with Shawn's police work a factor in being granted relative leniency. Six months' probation, community service in a homeless shelter, and the suspension of Psych's services to the SBPD until the end of his probationary period (that was Karen's decree).

Carlton had come back to work a month earlier, and this week he was allowed off desk duty at last. His second CT scan showed everything was normal, and he let Juliet buy his lunch after he got the news.

Despite the apparent camaraderie of their sloppy joe day, he was a little distant from her most of the time. If she pressed him he'd unbend but usually he would remain just enough removed from normal to get her attention. It was driving her insane. She never felt as if he was _angry_ with her, but there was something wrong and it was beginning to hurt.

No. It had been hurting for a while now.

Looking over at his dark head, bent to read a casefile, she thought simply that she missed him. From irascible to sarcastic, she _missed_ him.

Conversely, she didn't miss (and had hardly seen) Shawn at all. He called daily and sometimes she talked to him, and he often asked if he could come by her place or if she would come to Psych, but she usually said no. She simply couldn't spend very long with him before the anger would rise up again. Days spent avoiding him were the best days.

And she knew, like she knew it was wrong for Carlton to be so distant, that it was just as wrong to keep her relationship with Shawn on life support.

On Friday after work, she went to the Psych office. He'd be there, and she knew Gus was out of town for a pharmaceuticals conference.

He was parked in front of the widescreen, bowl of popcorn in his lap and bag of Fritos on the chair next to him, with a giant blue-ish smoothie wedged between his thigh and the arm of the chair.

"Jules!" he said happily. "Man, it's good to see you. Here, pull up a chair." He put the bag of Fritos on the floor. "You're just in time to watch _Head of the Class_ with me. Howard Hesseman is awesome."

"I'm not staying, and… you should at least mute the TV for a minute." She leaned against Gus' desk, uneasy but still certain this was correct.

Shawn moved the bowl of popcorn off his lap and muted the TV as requested. He looked uneasy himself.

"I had an uncle, back in Miami, who used to say some pretty colorful things. One of his favorite expressions was about lost causes. He'd say, 'That dog's been dead long enough; best get it in the ground already.'"

"Nice." He sipped his smoothie.

Hope that functions as a _soothie_ later, she thought.

"Okay, it's like this." She took a breath. "I feel like our relationship ended weeks ago, the day I told you how angry I was about Carlton. I know you didn't mean to hurt him, and I know you didn't do it to _me_ at all, and I know everything worked out all right but I just… I still have this bitterness about everything and when I'm around you all I feel is anger."

"About Lassie?" he asked with a trace of confusion. "He's okay, isn't he?"

"About you," she corrected gently. "About everything. About all the opportunities you've passed up to be honest with me on any topic." She sighed. "Yes, he's okay. But… what happened _isn't_ okay."

He seemed to be at a loss. "But it's over and done and I'm paying my debt to society. So how does a guy get a second chance?"

"Your second chance comes every day you wake up and _don't_ tell a lie."

Shawn looked into his drink for a moment. "Jules, that doesn't seem fair. This was a massive screwup on my part but it's not the kind of thing I anticipate ever doing again, you know? It wasn't _me_ to begin with. It's not me _now_."

"I know." Juliet walked the perimeter of the room restlessly. "The problem is me. I'm the one who can't let go of this. I'm the one who looks at you and sees the man who almost killed my partner. I'm the one who looks at my partner and wonders why he's slowly freezing me out. I'm the one who still doesn't know what you fought about and even though it's obviously none of my business, it hurts like hell to be shut out. The two men in my life are closed off to me now. You because… well, because _I've_ closed the door, and Carlton because of whatever you fought about, whatever's still eating at him."

He got up, setting the smoothie on his desk and shoving his hands in his pockets. "So you think ending it with me is going to fix any of that? No, Jules. _Talk_ is what fixes things."

She came to stand in front of him, amazed at his… audacity. "Talk? _Now_ you want to talk? What are you going to tell me after all this time? The _truth_?"

Shawn met her gaze, but had nothing to say.

Juliet touched his arm. "And no, I don't think ending this will fix anything. I think _this_ ended five weeks ago, and it's too _late_ to fix anything at all."

"Jules, please."

"I'm sorry," she said, and she was, really. But whether it was a skull or a relationship, some fractures could never be healed.

"I'll miss you, Jules." He gave her a brief hug, and murmured in her ear, "But that started five weeks ago, too."

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Gus wasn't sure about this. In fact, he was three-fourths' positive it was a terrible idea.

But Shawn insisted, and he knew if he was present, he could at least call 911 if things got out of hand.

They were at Lassiter's condo building, parked on a bench outside the main entrance. Lassiter would be home from work shortly, and assuming he didn't shoot Shawn on sight, this would be the first time they'd talked since That Night.

Gus asked Shawn nervously, "Why do you want to do this again?"

Shawn yawned, as if it were no big deal, and he'd merely chosen this particular bench to sit on to rest after a brisk walk.

"It's past time, Gus."

Maybe it was. Gus had been only moderately surprised by Juliet breaking up with him; Shawn had delivered the news quietly and without fanfare when he returned from his conference. He was hurting, but it had only been a few days and maybe their suspension from SBPD cases would help; if he didn't have regular contact with her, it might be easier to get past it.

"I have a bad feeling about this," he muttered.

"Gus, you have a bad feeling about Winnie The Pooh."

"And why not? That bear is too sweet, Shawn. You know you can't trust a bear that sweet."

Shawn was mocking him roundly when Lassiter came down the walk… and stopped short at the sight of them.

Shawn didn't get up. He put his elbows on his knees and let Lassiter look him over the way he was looking Lassiter over.

Physical injuries long since healed, both men were as ever: Lassiter crisp and buttoned-down, all order and carefully-maintained control; Shawn casual to the point of sloth, his control expressed by his refusal to conform to anyone else's rules.

"Guster," Lassiter said.

"Lassiter."

He switched his briefcase to the other hand. "Spencer, why are you here?"

"Because it's time to apologize." Now he rose, but didn't approach. "I am sorry, you know. About everything that night. Everything I said and did. Every jello shot, too."

Gus was watching Lassiter. He was tense, but didn't seem to be about to swing the briefcase at Shawn, let alone reach for his weapon.

"Live and learn," he finally said, unsmiling. "Sorry I provoked you by sitting there minding my own business."

Shawn nodded. "Yeah. Next time you'll know better."

"There won't be a next time, Spencer."

Gus willed Shawn not to say anything snarky, and it worked. Shawn simply looked at Lassiter steadily, and the other man's blue gaze was just as steady back.

"I said some crappy things that night."

Lassiter's slight nod was accompanied by the faintest hint of discomfort. "So did I."

"Yeah, but yours were all true," Shawn said wryly. "If they hadn't been true, I think I could have just walked away."

After a pause, Lassiter said evenly, "I really don't want to relive this with you."

"I know. I just wanted to make my official apology. I'll be off probation in five months and I'm hoping Chief Vick will let me start working with the police again. I _am_ good at that. I know you hate my methods but they get the bad guy in the end. Right?"

Lassiter ignored the question, which Gus thought was smart. "Your official apology is accepted. Are we done?"

"One more thing." He took a step closer, and Lassiter stood his ground. "I want you to know I will _never_ tell Juliet about that night."

Some of the tension—only some—drained away from him.

Until Shawn added softly, "But I'm starting to think _you_ should."

Lassiter's eyes widened and the blue became both icy and alarmed.

"You were right, you know. She did figure out she could do better than me. Broke the news a few days ago."

Gus hadn't expected Shawn to tell him that, but maybe he already knew, from Juliet. Then he looked at Lassiter again more closely, and judged by his stillness that he didn't.

But what could Lassiter say? _Sorry? I told you so? Oh? Booyah?_

Shawn stuck out his hand.

After a moment of clear indecision, Lassiter accepted it.

"See you in five months, Detective." Shawn saluted him and gestured to Gus, and the two of them walked away _almost_ fast enough for Gus' need to put distance between them and the man with the gun.

At the corner, he stopped. "So now what?"

Shawn smiled. "Now, Gus my sweet magic-head, _you_ have to tell her."

Gus' jaw dropped. "You must be out of your damn mind!"

"You have to, buddy."

"I do _not_ have to! Why in the hell would I _want_ to?"

Sighing, Shawn started moving again. "Because you didn't see Jules when she was talking about him, either the morning after I nearly killed him or the day she came to give me the axe."

"Shawn, we agreed telling her was a bad thing."

"That was over five weeks ago. Five weeks ago we didn't know what the hell was going to happen, and five weeks ago your instincts were right: if I'd told her, I'd have tried to make him look like a fool and I'd have looked like even more of an ass in the process. But time wounds all heels… wait… is that backwards? Time…" He stopped, puzzled. "Wounds heal?"

"Time heals all wounds, and what are you saying? You think she has feelings for him?"

Shawn didn't answer at first, staring down at his shoes for a few moments. "I think he means more to her than just about anyone else, Gus. And if sitting on what we know means his stupid manly pride and insecurity keep her from finding out if there could be something between them, then it's wrong to keep the secret."

Gus stared at his friend, startled as he always was when Shawn applied his considerable intellect and observational skills to the people closest to him in _non_-manipulative ways.

"So you tell her," he suggested.

"I can't. Didn't you just hear me promise Lassie I wouldn't?"

"I promised him too, in the hospital!"

Shawn shrugged. "Eh. He's forgotten that by now. Come on, let's go get a churro. I'll talk you through it."

"The hell you will," Gus grumbled. "If I tell her, and I do mean if, I'll figure out how to do it on my own. And you're buying the churro."

All he got back was a grin.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Juliet took a casefile over to Carlton's desk. He glanced up at her and thanked her politely.

Pissed her off, it did.

"Damn you," she muttered, and strode back to her desk, veering at the last minute to the coffee bar where one lone stale pastry from the morning lingered. She intended to eat that in one huge bite.

"What the hell did _I _do?" he demanded, appearing at her elbow suddenly.

Juliet tore a piece off the sticky pastry and pointed it at him. "You treat me like a co-worker." She stuffed the piece in her mouth and chewed, glaring at him.

Carlton's frown was classic, and the blue of his eyes was darker. He was annoyed and confused, which today she didn't mind having caused. "I have no idea what's wrong with treating you like a co-worker, O'Hara."

She went to her desk to toss back the last of her cold coffee, and he followed, still frowning. "Then what the hell did _I_ do, Carlton?"

"You didn't do anything!"

But there was a flickering in the blue.

"I did _something_. Something to make you treat me like you barely know me. You're polite. You're civil. But you're not you, Carlton. Maybe you were brain-damaged after all."

He drew back, startled and more definitely annoyed now. "That's not very funny."

"I don't mean it to be." She grabbed his hand and thrust the rest of the pastry into it, regardless of its stickiness. "But I don't know how else to explain why ever since you got hit in the head, I feel like you think _I'm_ the one who did it."

"No," he said more gently. "No, O'Hara, I don't think that." He shoved his free hand into his hair, and anxiety was in his movements.

Juliet thought, _finally we're getting somewhere_.

"It's just been a crazy time. I'm still adjusting."

_So we _aren't_ getting anywhere._

"Lie," she said flatly. "Forget it. I'm tired of being shut out about what happened that night. I'm just going to have to accept that you no longer think of me as a friend." She headed out of the station, not having any idea where she was going, only that she had to get there before she started crying.

**. . . .**

**. . . **

Karen Vick, back from a late afternoon meeting, saw Juliet O'Hara walking rapidly to her little green VW, and something about the young woman's demeanor suggested Karen should break her usual don't-get-involved-in-her-employees'-personal-business rule.

"O'Hara!" she called.

Juliet's flushed face turned her way, and her steps faltered. "Chief."

Karen crossed the distance between them. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, I… I just…"

She knew that look: wounded. The look of a woman whose feelings have been trampled. "What did he do?"

Juliet was startled. "Who?"

"Your partner. Who else around here has the ability to make you that upset?"

"He didn't…" But she couldn't finish. "Chief, I just…" It came out in a rush. "Nothing has been the same since the fight. He's not the same, at least not with me. He's polite but I don't want polite. I want my partner back. I want the bad moods and the puffed-up ego and the snarkery and _the_ _real Carlton_. I don't want this… this polite man who acts like he barely knows me!"

Karen asked carefully, "Did you ever find out what the fight was about?"

"No. And sometimes I don't care, either. If it was so bad that it makes him treat me like a stranger, maybe I don't _want_ to know." But then in almost the same moment, she looked at Karen hopefully. "Do _you_ know?"

She couldn't help but smile. "No. But… let me tell you something Henry said the day after it happened. He said one of the few things that men who don't like each other would agree to keep quiet about would be something to do with a woman they both… love."

Juliet's rather remarkable dark blue eyes went wide, and the color disappeared from her face. "Chief," she whispered.

"It doesn't have to mean anything, O'Hara," she warned her. "But as we like to say around here, it _is_ a lead."

"Yes it is," Juliet whispered. "Oh, God, yes it is." She glanced back toward the station, as if torn, but then a new light appeared in her eyes. "I have to go. Thank you, Chief."

Karen wondered, as she watched Juliet drive away, if she'd done the right thing planting this idea in her head. But when she got into the station and took a look at Carlton Lassiter, seated at his desk apparently stricken, she knew she most certainly had.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Gus got a text from Juliet as he was driving from his last appointment for the day. It had been a week since Shawn insisted he tell her about the fight, and he'd been putting it off.

What if Shawn was wrong? What if Juliet finding out would only make her unhappy and uncomfortable? What if she told Lassiter, and Lassiter came and shot him to death in his bed?

The text read _I need to see you now. Alone. Please_.

His gut… _didn't_ roil.

So… it _was_ time.

He found her at the place she'd named, outside the library, sitting on the grass under a tree, seemingly composed. Such a pretty woman, he thought, with such a big heart.

"Juliet." He sank to the ground nearby. "What's up?"

Her voice was low and steady. "Tell me what happened that night, Gus. Please."

He looked at her and knew at once that Shawn's hunch was right. Keeping the secret now wasn't doing anyone any good at all.

"Okay," he said.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

_They rounded the corner, Shawn lurching ahead of Gus, singing some impromptu song about jello and cups and kicking college-boy ass, and at the same time, they both spotted Lassiter sitting alone in a booth. His black and silver head was down and a glass sat in front of him, half full of amber liquid Gus was pretty sure wasn't iced tea._

"_Lassie!" Shawn said expansively. "Now why am I not surprised to see you here on a school night, drinking alone and all depressed?"_

"_Shawn, let's go." Gus tugged on his arm._

_Lassiter only looked at them, blue eyes cold, and sipped his drink._

"_So how many have you had? How many can you even handle? Skin and bones. Bet you can't hold your liquor at all, can you? Not like me. I just drank some college guys under the table."_

_Not exactly true, Gus thought. He did a lot of shots, was laughed at by the college kids, had a few more just to prove he could, and left them still going strong._

_Still Lassiter said nothing._

"_What is it, Lassie-girl? What's on your mind?" In mock sympathy, complete with overwrought gasp, he went on, "Ohhh, it's a woman!" He laughed, looking back at Gus. "Lassie here's besotted with another woman he can't have."_

"_Shawn, let's _go_."_

"_Orrrrr," Shawn drawled, "maybe he's still just besotted with the woman _I_ have."_

_Gus saw Lassiter flinch, and Shawn, even drunken Shawn, sure as hell didn't miss it. "Shawn, we have to leave _now_."_

"_Take his advice," Lassiter said coldly._

"_Oh, no way, not now, not when we're getting somewhere." The glint in his eye disturbed Gus. "We have _got_ to talk about this. We have _got_ to talk about how the skinny Irish control freak robot cop has the hots for someone else's girlfriend. Someone he works with. Someone who's never once looked at him, ever, and never will, and not just because she's mine, which she is, but because who the hell would want you, man? I mean, seriously?"_

_Gus pulled on his arm. Shawn shrugged him off, lurching forward again, closer to the booth. Lassiter drew back, his hand tight around his glass._

"_Huh, Lassie? Who the hell has ever wanted you? You have Dumbo ears, that crazy crooked nose, you look like you haven't eaten in a month and dude, the hair! The suits! The crazy—"_

"_Shawn, that is _enough!_" Gus was desperate now, afraid not of Lassiter's reaction now but more of what the hell Shawn might say next._

"_No, no, Gussy, I am just getting warmed up. I have a right to talk about Lassie drooling on my girl. He's sitting here in this booth all drinky and sad because I'm the one who gets to be with her at night. I'm the one she kisses and snuggles with. I'm the one she wants, and never once, ever, ever in a million years, would she even consider taking up with ole Big Ears here. No matter how big his damn Glock is. Can you imagine trying to warm up to this cold fish in bed? Talk about freezer burn." He planted his hands on the table and leaned in far too close. "I get the girl, I solve the cases, I win. Little lost Lassie loses. Now and forever, alone in a bar, dreaming of the girl he could never take from me because she'd never, ever, want him instead." He stood up, swaying slightly. "Just like no one else wants him. Jules knows. I'm the best thing that ever happened to her. She's only your partner out of pity."_

_Lassiter shot to his feet, out of the booth and looming over Shawn in an instant. "You are one sorry son of a bitch, Spencer. How I feel about Juliet is none of your damn business, but you know what I think? I think the reason you're such an ass about it is because you know how fragile _your_ hold on her is. You know you're damn lucky to get even one minute's attention from her. Every other woman who looks at you sees a bloated, lying, narcissistic con artist thief who can barely dress himself, lives off the earnings of his so-called best friend, can't get through the day without screwing with someone's head and is going to be absolutely stunned when Juliet breaks it off. Because she will, Spencer. She will run out of patience with being lied to and overridden and ignored. She will kick your ass to the curb and find someone new. I know it won't be me, but she can sure do a lot better than _you_. Hell, she'd be better off with a mime. But guess what? I'll still be her partner, because I _am_ her friend, and it doesn't matter whether she ever cares about me or not, because I'll _never_ hurt her the way you do _every single day_."_

_Gus was frozen. People had begun to pay attention—not because they heard the words over the cacophony of voices and music, but because they saw the positioning of the two men: the position of trouble._

_Shawn was breathing hard, and his eyes were a bit unfocused, but Lassiter's seemed like clear blue ice._

_He decided later it was only because Lassiter had been drinking that he couldn't stop the punch Shawn landed. But then again, who expected Shawn to be the punching kind?_

_It was short and nasty and ended with a smashed pitcher, Lassiter's blood, the cops, an ambulance, and a certainty on Gus' part that absolutely nothing would ever be the same._

**. . . .**

**. . .**


	5. Chapter 5: The Last Talk

**CHAPTER FIVE: The Last Talk**

**. . . .**

**. . .**

She asked Gus why they kept the secret, the three of them.

He said it was to save Carlton's pride, to keep her from seeing how ugly the whole thing was, and to stop Shawn from making it worse.

She asked him why they thought she would be upset to learn Carlton cared for her.

Gus blinked and said he guessed that if a person hears something often enough, he starts to believe it. Shawn had always said Juliet would never be interested in Carlton, and Carlton certainly seemed to believe that too, so…

She asked why it was so easy for him to tell her _now_.

He said Shawn advised him to. Shawn had figured out she might need to know more than they needed to keep the secret. It no longer mattered that she'd see the full extent of his assery toward Carlton.

He also said somewhat fearfully that he'd really appreciate it if she didn't tell Carlton how she found out because he hadn't updated his will yet.

She hugged him and thanked him and went home.

Things made sense now. The way Carlton had behaved—the way she'd felt about it. About him.

The level of fear she felt when he was in the hospital, and the level of hurt she'd experienced as he grew distant. Her anger toward Shawn. It all made sense.

_Carlton_ made sense.

Carlton had _always_ made sense, only she'd lacked the sense to _see_ it.

She only had to figure out what to do next.

But she hummed as she drove, smiling into the late afternoon sunshine, and her heart was singing.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Lassiter paced at the bottom of the steps outside Juliet's apartment. He'd been here half an hour and he didn't know where she was but he hadn't had the nerve to text her or call her. He was just going to be here when she got home.

He was going to talk to her.

He didn't know what the hell he was going to say, but he was going to talk to her. Too much had happened for him to risk losing her the way he'd been risking it all month by keeping his distance.

Yes, it was damned hard to work so closely with the woman he loved and couldn't have, especially when she was so nice and pretty and sweet and fierce and funny and gorgeous. But he'd done it before—for years—and he could do it again. He had to shake off his fear of exposure since the fight, and he had to get them back to where they were both comfortable: partners, real partners, with a real connection, the kind that would far outlast whatever personal relationship she wound up in.

She hadn't said anything about ending it with Spencer. But he couldn't hold it against her; how approachable had he ever been about Spencer, even before the fight?

Were they really finished? Crap, what the hell did it matter? Spencer hadn't been wrong that night: she would never want _him_ as more than a friend.

For a moment he stopped pacing and ran both his hands through his hair, terrified he had screwed everything up with her as a result of trying to protect himself.

When the green Bug finally whirred its way into the lot and into her parking spot, he went to her door at once, pulling it open, pulling her out almost before her seatbelt was undone, and saying to her startled but so damn lovely face, "You are the best friend I have ever had in my entire _life_, Juliet."

He put his arms around her because that seemed right, and suddenly she was clutching him and sniffling and saying she'd missed him.

His heart was pounding and he felt her arms tight and warm around his middle and for the first time in weeks, he started to relax. This was good. She was going to yell at him in a minute; he knew that perfectly well, but this was all good.

"Please come in," she said, stepping back and wiping a tear from her face. "I need to talk to you."

Yes, this would be where the yelling started.

She locked up the Bug and led the way up the stairs, and in her bright and sunny apartment he didn't know what to do with himself so he sat down at one end of her sofa, suddenly jittery again.

Juliet took off her jacket and put her service weapon away. She went into the kitchen to get them some iced tea and he followed her in, because it turned out he couldn't sit still for even one minute.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I don't know what I was thinking. I'm sorry I made you think you're not the most important person in my life." Then he blushed furiously because that sounded wrong in a lot of ways, particularly ways he hadn't intended to reveal at all.

She went pink too but then looked guilty. "I shouldn't have said it. I was just hurting, Carlton, because I missed you, and I lashed out and I'm sorry."

He looked at her looking back at him, and she closed the refrigerator door and stepped a little closer.

_Please don't do that. I could go off at any second and if I do I don't know what will happen. I only know I can't lose you_. _You have to be in my life._

"What are you thinking?" she asked in a whisper. "Your eyes are showing a hundred different emotions."

Lassiter wondered how he'd been so icy calm the night of the fight and yet was so terrified right now, in front of this slim and beautiful young woman. Yes, she was good with a gun, but the damage she could do to him didn't involve bullets.

What he said, again, he did not expect. "Please don't ask for a new partner."

She was shocked. "I wouldn't."

"I couldn't take it. I'd have to leave here."

"Don't do that." Her eyes were wide. "Carlton, you're the only partner I want."

Relief flooded him, and he sank into a chair at her table. Juliet came to stand beside him, one hand on his shoulder. "Thank you," he managed.

"Why would you doubt it?"

"Because I've been a jerk to you all these weeks."

"No, you haven't. You've just been distant. Regrouping."

Lassiter puzzled over that. "Regrouping." She was right, in a way, only his intent had been to regroup privately, not in a way to make her think she didn't matter to him.

"It's okay, you know." She sat in the chair across from his and reached over to take his hand, and her touch was simply perfect. "I understand now."

"You understand… _now_?"

Juliet looked down for a moment, and added softly, "I might as well confess. Gus told me about the fight after I left the station."

For a long time, Lassiter could only stare at her.

Then he stood up rapidly. "I have to go." He was at the front door two seconds later, but Juliet's voice, anxious behind him, stilled his hand on the knob.

"Carlton, please. Don't leave. Don't run."

His heart was rattling in his chest and the flight instinct was unbelievably strong, but when he turned to face her, her smile was gentle—not mocking, not pitying—and he felt the panic recede slightly.

She tilted her head. "Unless you were just going to go shoot Gus. He thought you might."

"Guster was always the weak link," he managed. "But ammo's expensive."

"Come on, Carlton," she pleaded, her hand extended.

He looked at her, and loved her, and was utterly terrified, and flight won out.

He turned the doorknob, but the next thing he knew she had grasped his wrist firmly and yanked him off balance, and against all odds given his training and self-defense skills, he was flat on his back, on the floor, with Juliet sitting on his stomach, hands gripping his shoulders.

"Okay then." She was barely out of breath, and she was still smiling. "_Now_ we can talk."

Trying to catch his breath, and more than a little pissed off, Lassiter snapped, "First Spencer sucker-punches me, now you throw me down. What's next? The biscuit lady dangling me by my ankles?"

Juliet laughed. "No. This is just a friendly chat."

She was a warm and not-at-all-unpleasant weight on his body, her thighs tight to his sides, and the light in her eyes was… well, it was doing things to him. Not slowing his heart rate, to be sure, but definitely doing things.

"O'Hara, let me up."

"I can't, Carlton. You'll only run again. Just like you've been running all month."

He glared at her. She was right, but did she _have_ to be right?

"I didn't know you were running from _me_, though. I mean I guess I did, on some level, but I thought it had more to do with me dating Shawn. Which I'm not anymore," she added.

"I heard that."

Juliet frowned. "You did?"

"Spencer told me."

"You _talked_ to him?"

"He and Guster ambushed me outside my condo last week." How surreal was this, having an apparently calm conversation while she sat on him?

Immediate concern colored her tone. "How did it go? Was he… oh, Carlton, the things he said to you that night. Gus told me. They were awful."

Calm was but a memory. "He was drunk and lashing out. It's nothing I haven't heard before. O'Hara, could you _please_ get off of me?"

"No. How was the conversation last week?"

"Civil. He apologized."

Her eyes grew wide. "He did? That's something."

_You're something_. "Guster looked like he thought I was going for my gun."

Now she smiled. "You were thinking about it."

"I'm thinking about it _now_," he growled.

"Oh, you are not. Just settle down." She relaxed her grip on his shoulders slightly, but if anything, she only tightened her thighs around him. "We're making progress."

"We are?"

"Carlton, relax. You're in a good place now."

"Not as good as I'd like," he muttered, and just as it had the night of the fight, his training finally kicked in. He bumped her butt with his knee, which jerked her forward so her hands slipped off his shoulders, and then used the bridge-and-roll technique to flip her onto her back so _he_ was on top.

Usually a 'perp' would immediately try to get out from underneath. Juliet, however, linked her ankles behind his thighs, slid her arms around his neck, breathed, "Not how I imagined our first kiss, but whatever," and pulled his head down to her perfect mouth.

It wasn't exactly how he'd imagined it either, in terms of circumstances and physical positioning, but after a few seconds of shock none of that really mattered, because the sensation of her mouth against his obliterated his awareness of everything else.

In.

The.

World.

Soft and hot and seeking, Juliet explored him with her lips and tongue, as if she were trying to learn everything about him from one long, succulent kiss, and if he had secrets from her, he didn't even know what they were himself.

He kissed her back because she was utterly irresistible and delicious. Cradling her head in one hand, feeling the softness of her golden hair, he let her fingers slip into his own hair, gently seeking the faint scars from the fight, caressing him and moving her mouth to kiss him there, while he sought out the silk of her jaw and throat.

Their bodies were illicitly close, and Juliet unhooked her ankles only so she could run her feet up and down his calves.

Lassiter felt himself trembling against her, and Juliet's beautiful dark blue eyes went wide when she felt it.

"Carlton. Tell me you love me."

"You already know," he said hoarsely, and tried to roll off her.

"No… no, stop it!" She clutched at him, and he gave up, sinking back down against her warmth. "God, you are making this so hard." Holding his head alongside hers, she nibbled at his earlobe tantalizingly and then whispered, "In the past six weeks I have learned a lot of things about myself. Things which were true for a long time but which I wasn't able to see until the night you fought with Shawn."

He lifted his head and looked at her, and the terror and anger turned into… terrified, angry hope.

Juliet smiled tremulously. "I learned that the thought of losing you was the most horrifying thing ever to cross my mind. My _heart_." She stroked his face gently. "And as the weeks have gone by, it's been clearer and clearer that everything I've ever wanted, or needed—everything which _completes_ me—is wrapped up in you. If you hadn't spent so much time shutting me out, it wouldn't have had to be Gus who told me how you felt. It could have been you."

Words failed him.

Completely.

But he knew how to kiss.

And Juliet welcomed him to her, and Lassiter let all his love for her show in how he kissed her, mouth and cheeks and throat, temples, eyelids. Gentle, light kisses, precious for the woman who held his heart.

"Yeah," he breathed. "It could have been me."

"Don't kill Gus." She stroked back his hair. "Just tell me you—"

"I love you," he interrupted.

"I know," she said happily, and kissed him.

Lassiter had to laugh then; it was all so ridiculous. "Off the floor," he suggested, easing off her.

She let him help her up and they moved to the sofa, where she immediately got him out of his jacket and holster and then worked her way into his lap.

"Damn, woman, you move fast."

"Have to. You _run_ fast," she countered, fingers playing with the buttons of his shirt. Her face was aglow and he couldn't help but kiss her rosy mouth. "You also adapt fast," she sighed.

He trailed a fingertip along her jaw. "This is the part where I ask if I'm dreaming."

She turned her head to kiss that roving fingertip.

"Because I've loved you a long time, Juliet, and never once thought you could ever feel the same way."

Juliet tilted her head back and studied him. "How is it you can be so brave in the field and so… afraid of something like this?"

He covered her hand where it now rested against his chest. "I would take a hundred more skull fractures over one chance you could break my heart."

She leaned forward—up—and kissed his face. "I will never break your heart, Carlton. It's wrapped up too tightly with mine now."

Still he had questions. He couldn't help it. "What about Spencer? You really broke it off?"

"I didn't want him," she said simply. "I hadn't for a long time."

"But when did you start… thinking… about…" He stopped. Too hard to say.

Her smile was knowing. "It's more like when did I start _feeling_ about you. And I know now it was the instant Gus told me you were unconscious. We've both been injured in the line of duty before but we were always together when it happened and I could see you were all right even when I was terrified. But that night—and maybe it was hearing the fear in Gus' voice—it was too much. I probably did ninety miles an hour to get to the hospital. Pissed off a bunch of nurses too, insisting on seeing you."

Lassiter remembered something, something he thought he'd only dreamed. "Did you come to my room? Did you kiss me on the cheek?"

"Yes." She was slightly pink. "I held your hand too. You were awake?"

"Not really—I thought it was a dream. Something I wanted to be true." He kissed her forehead. "Like this."

"This _is_ true, Carlton." Sweet lips moving against his, desire evident in the heat of her kiss.

"How the hell," he muttered against her, "did you get me down on the floor?"

She laughed, tickling his ear and making him shiver. "Sheer determination."

"Did I hurt you when I rolled you over?" He hadn't considered it at the time and now he felt guilty.

"No. I liked being underneath you." Her eyes were alight. "I hope to be there again soon."

A flush of desire suffused him, and he kissed her hard, but she gave back as good as she got, and good wasn't the right word at all.

Stupendous was more like it.

Juliet slid her hand between the buttons of his shirt and found his bare skin, and that little taste of arousal a minute ago was nothing compared to what he felt now.

She twisted herself around so she was straddling his lap, not breaking the kiss, and pulled her blouse free of her slacks without waiting for his assistance.

Lassiter kissed the column of her throat and then each bit of skin her unbuttoning fingers revealed, and she rested her elbows on his shoulders, breathing fast and sighing as his mouth moved across her skin.

"None of this can possibly be real," he murmured in the moment before his lips grazed her cleavage.

"Every damn bit of it is real." She got off his lap and held out her hand.

He rose unsteadily and enfolded her in his arms, kissing her deeply because he just couldn't stop. "We don't have to do this today."

Juliet took her blouse off. "No, we don't."

"You might still change your mind." He sounded somewhat strangled even to his own ears.

She made quick work of his shirt buttons. "It _is_ an extremely remote possibility, I'll grant you that."

"You don't want to rush into anything."

Juliet smiled as she undid his belt. "I want you to rush into me."

_Oh, God._

"Just because you know I love you doesn't mean you have to—son of a bitch," he breathed when she unzipped his pants.

"Just because you know I love you doesn't mean you have to tolerate my advances," she agreed, stepped back and undid her bra, casting the wispy pink fabric to the coffee table.

He stared at her lovely nude breasts and could only think of one thing to say.

"Advance."

Juliet laughed and led him down the hall to her bedroom.

They didn't come out for a long time, and when they did—first to the shower and later to the kitchen—he didn't have any more doubts about her feelings, or his.

He couldn't help but think of Spencer once, Spencer as he hinted that Lassiter should tell Juliet how he felt. Like it was okay with him now.

Not that Lassiter needed his blessing—in fact he was a little annoyed that Spencer not only knew his secret but was right about what to do with it—but it would make things less stressful when Psych started working with the SBPD again, certainly for Juliet.

Plus, he was really going to have to update his self-defense training. Being taken down by both Spencer _and_ Juliet was more than a little humiliating.

On the other hand, it meant having Juliet in his arms now, sated and glowing and utterly wonderful.

So maybe… maybe he could handle a little defeat now and then.

"Carlton? Why were you in Circles that night anyway?" She hesitated. "Were you… depressed?"

"No. I was celebrating."

Juliet frowned, surprised. "Really?"

He stroked her soft arm, reveling in the sensation of just _being_ with her. "I was in a foul mood that morning, snapping at you and McNab and anyone else who got too close, and the fact that we didn't have time for lunch didn't help. But on your break you snuck out and got us something from a street vendor, and you made me eat, and you laughed at me when I tried to growl at you, and… you made me feel better." He smiled at her pleased expression. "You always make me feel better, Juliet. So that night I was at Circles thinking that if I _had_ to be hopelessly in love with a woman I couldn't have, I was at the very least the _luckiest_ damn pathetic son of a bitch in the world."

"Oh."

He loved that he could make her blush. She was so unbelievably pretty, and he sank back into her kisses with a complete sense of being exactly where he needed to be.

Juliet undulated against him, restless with fresh desire. "I feel the need to advance again."

"I surrender," he said at once.

Laughing, she pushed him onto his back and climbed on top of him, all silky warm seduction. "I love you, Carlton."

"I love you too."

She looked into his eyes for a long while, smiling.

"What's taking so long with the advancing?" he prompted, hands on her thighs.

"I was reveling," she admitted. "Hearing you say you love me. I like it."

"I love you," he said again, more softly. "You're every dream come true, Juliet."

"I even like my name better when you say it." She bent to kiss him, brushing her lips against his all-too-briefly.

_How would you feel about Juliet Lassiter_, he wondered.

"And now I'm going to advance on you until you beg for mercy," she declared.

"Thank _God_."

Surrender had never felt so right.

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**E N D**


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